Page 26 of Tiki Beach (Paradise Crime Cozy Mystery #6)

After breakfast, we dressed and headed for the airport after making sure Ilima was well chaperoned by her minions.

The comfortable domestic bubble of the morning gave way to seriousness; but there was no way not to find the plane ride from Hana to Kahului in Keone’s little aircraft anything but enchanting.

The morning was still, bright and clear, the kind of perfect Maui day that made air travel close to the rugged, green bluffs and valleys of the east side of the island especially stunning.

I leaned my forehead on the window and watched for whales in the aqua-blue ocean below as we flew alongside velvety cliffs and waterfalls.

Maui Memorial Medical Center in Kahului felt different on a Sunday—less frantic than during our last visit, though the police presence remained. Officer Palakiko nodded to us in recognition from his position near the entrance before directing us to Kawika’s new room on the regular medical floor.

While we were on our way, Lei texted that the meeting at the bank had been moved up to today; she had prevailed upon the manager to come in and meet her on the premises due to the urgency of the case. “Join me if you can,” her text read. I texted back that we’d try.

We found Kawika sitting up in bed. Color had returned to his face, though a large bandage still covered his head. He was eating what appeared to be hospital oatmeal with the resigned expression of someone who knew complaining wouldn’t improve the quality.

“If it isn’t the detective duo,” he greeted us, setting aside his spoon. “Please tell me you brought real food.”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “Next time.”

“I hope there won’t be a next time, and they let me out of here tomorrow.”

“How are you feeling, cuz?” Keone asked, pulling up chairs for us.

“Like someone tried to crack my skull open,” Kawika said. “Better than yesterday, though. The doctor says I’ll have a headache for a while.”

“Any more memories of the attack?” I asked.

Kawika’s expression sobered. “Fragments. I remember the sandalwood smell more clearly now—definitely cologne, not natural wood.”

I frowned, remembering a flash of fragrance. David Santos had smelled of a sandalwood cologne.

“And . . . the attacker said something right before they hit me.”

“What did they say?” Keone asked, leaning forward intently.

“Something like ‘nothing personal’ or ‘just business,’” Kawika frowned with the effort of remembering. “It was a man’s voice, I’m sure of that now.”

“How’s Pearl?” I asked. “Have you seen her?”

“Briefly, this morning. They took me to her in a wheelchair.” A smile softened his features. “She’s weak but definitely Pearl. First thing she did was scold me for not ducking fast enough.”

We chuckled—it was exactly the sort of thing Pearl would say, her concern masked by practical admonishment. “Can we visit her, do you think?”

“The doctors are keeping her quiet. They don’t want her agitated. Family only,” Kawika said. “Though there’s no family here on the island, I get an exemption as her Power of Attorney and caregiver.”

“Did she say anything about the case?” Keone asked. “About the evidence or the Santos-Akana connection?”

“Not directly,” Kawika lowered his voice, though we were alone in the room. “She asked if I could retrieve the temple box.”

My brows rose. “Temple box?”

“Apparently, there’s a second sandalwood box,” Kawika said. “Similar to the crane box, but kept at the Buddhist temple at Iao Valley where Pearl has meditated in the past. She said I should retrieve it before ‘they’ realized it existed. I wonder if you could do that for me.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ve always meant to visit that temple. This is a great excuse.”

“Pearl was clever,” Keone said. “She spread her evidence in multiple locations, ensuring that even if one cache was discovered, others would remain. Did she say what’s in this temple box?”

Kawika shook his head, then touched his temple with a wince at the movement.

“Only that it was ‘the other half of the truth.’ She gave me this—” He reached for the drawer of his bedside table and withdrew a small key on a red silk cord.

“She kept it around her neck. She said it opens the temple box. The head monk, Venerable Sonam, is expecting someone to come and claim it.”

I accepted the key, examining its small size and brass gleam in my palm. “We’ll go check on it right away.”

“One more thing,” Kawika added. “Pearl mentioned that the ‘final piece’ is still waiting to be found. Something about ‘what’s buried isn’t always in the ground.’”

“More cryptic guidance,” Keone said, with a slight eye roll.

“She’s protecting information that people have already tried to kill for,” Kawika said, a little frosty in Pearl’s defense. “Caution seems warranted.”

We didn’t stay much longer, aware that Kawika needed rest and we had a busy morning ahead. As we were leaving, he caught my hand.

“Be careful,” he said. “Whoever did this,” he gestured to his bandaged head, “won’t hesitate to try again if they think you’re close to the truth.”

“We’ll be careful,” I assured him. “You focus on recovering. We’ll handle the rest.”

Outside, in the hallway, Keone checked his watch. “It’s early. Maybe we can make it to the temple and still meet Lei at the bank if we hurry.”

“Let’s split up,” I suggested. “You meet Lei at the bank, and I’ll go to the temple for the box. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Keone’s expression darkened. “After everything that’s happened, you want to go alone?”

“The Buddhist temple is hardly a high-risk location,” I pointed out. “It’s a public place, in broad daylight, with monks and visitors present. Besides, we need to know what’s in both the temple box and the safety deposit box as soon as possible.”

I could see the internal struggle playing out on his face—the logical investigator acknowledging the efficiency of my plan versus the protective boyfriend wanting to ensure my safety.

I chose not to remind him I was also a trained former Secret Service agent and knew a dozen ways to disable an attacker with or without a weapon.

Why cut him off at the knees?

I guess I was learning a thing or three about relationships—finally.

“Okay,” he said at last. “We’ll take separate rideshares. Call me the minute you have the box and are on your way to Lei’s office at the police station.”

“Deal,” I said, and gave him a quick kiss. “I got this. You got this. We both got this.”

* * *

The Iao Valley Buddhist Temple was a serene oasis nestled among tropical foliage near the park at the end of the Valley.

I loved the drive back through the sparsely populated valley with its steep, corrugated green walls sculped by time, erosion, and seasonal waterfalls.

As usual, puffy clouds caught on the dramatic peaks. One even sported a rainbow.

We soon pulled up to the Temple. Its graceful architecture—a blend of traditional Asian design and modern elements—created a harmonious presence that seemed to exist slightly outside the normal flow of time.

As I approached the main entrance, removing my shoes as custom dictated, I was greeted by a young monk in maroon robes.

“Welcome,” he said with a slight bow. “How may we assist you today?”

“I’m here to see Venerable Sonam,” I explained. “About an item left by Pearl Yamamoto.”

Recognition flickered in the young man’s eyes. “Please, follow me.”

He led me through the main sanctuary, where several people sat in silent meditation, and into a small garden courtyard. There, tending to a miniature rock garden with a small rake, was an elderly monk whose serene presence seemed to radiate calm.

“Venerable Sonam,” my guide said softly, “this visitor has come regarding Pearl Yamamoto.”

The elder monk looked up, his weathered face creasing into a smile. “Thank you, Tenzin.”

As the younger man departed, Venerable Sonam gestured for me to join him on a stone bench beside the rock garden. “You are Pearl’s friend,” he stated rather than asked.

“Yes,” I said. “My name is Kat Smith. Pearl is in the hospital, and her caregiver, Kawika Pali, sent me to retrieve something she left in your safekeeping.”

“The box of memories. Pearl has meditated here on and off monthly for twenty years. She told me someone might come with the key.” He studied me with surprising intensity for one so seemingly gentle. “Do you have it?”

I showed him the small key on its red cord. Sonam nodded again, apparently satisfied.

“Pearl is a woman who carries many burdens,” he said softly. “The weight of history, of justice delayed, of truth buried. She always returns to her path of revealing what has been hidden.” He rose with vigorous grace for his age. “The box is in our meditation room. Please, follow me.”

I followed the elder monk through a side door into a small, dimly lit room with cushions arranged in a circle on the floor. A simple altar stood against one wall, bearing incense holders, a small Buddha statue, and several photographs of what appeared to be previous temple leaders.

Venerable Sonam approached the altar and reached behind it, producing a wooden box similar to the crane one we’d found at Pearl’s house, though slightly smaller and carved with a different design—a lotus flower in full bloom rather than a flying crane.

“The lotus rises from the mud, pure and beautiful despite its origins,” he said, noting my interest in the carving. “Pearl chose this symbol for what this box contains.”

He placed the box in my hands with ceremonial care. “She said the contents would help right an old wrong, but might cause pain in the process.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling the weight of both the box and the responsibility it represented. “We’re trying to find the truth about what happened to Pearl and why.”